


das Märchen (Start. Stop. Stutter: re-collection—dj vivacious ice)

by zvi



Category: NSYNC
Genre: Angst, Europe-era, M/M, Popslash - Freeform, Remix, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-25
Updated: 2003-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zvi/pseuds/zvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What were Justin and Chris up to in Germany? No one really wants to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby Blue Boy met a Strange Man

**Author's Note:**

> Remix of [das Märchen](http://www.keyfitz.org/allecto/pop/fiction/ftc/dasmarchen.html) by Allecto
> 
> Additional author notes are contained in [Chapter 17](http://archiveofourown.org/en/works/1413/chapters/1741).

Chris looked at his watch, looked at the forty kids ahead of him, all cuter and about ten years younger. He thought about leaving, but he had nothing else to do and the next bus didn't come for 45 minutes.

"You doing a song or just reading the script?" he heard from behind him.

Chris didn't pay any attention. The kids never talked to him when he mistakenly wandered into a kiddie audition. The few times they had and he had stopped to chat, their mothers looked at him as if he was a child molester. He didn't need that kind of grief.

"Hello? I'm talking to you. It's rude to just ignore me."

Chris turned to look. Four and a half feet of obnoxiously adorable boy child was scowling at him. The face looked familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Did you do that cleaner commercial a couple years ago? The one with the scent?"

The scowl lessened, but didn't disappear. "No. I'm Justin Timberlake. I was on the Mickey Mouse Club."

Chris looked at the kid with a new respect. MMC was a five day a week show where you had to learn new things all the time. This kid was not an amateur. "I'm Chris. My biggest gig so far has been stageshows at Universal."

The kid raised his eyebrows. "That's gotta be the hardest work in the world. Singing every hour in an Orlando summer to people who aren't really paying attention. And they probably give you free passes you never want to use because it's too much like work."

Chris nodded. The kid was pretty much right on all counts. "I'm lucky, though. I just started with this doo-wop gig, so I get to wear approximately normal clothes. Some poor schmucks have to do outside shows in furry costumes with headpieces."

The kid winced. "How many do they lose to heatstroke every year?"

"Only one or two, people who never get out of their costume between shows."

The kid nodded sagely. "So, you never did answer my question. You just reading the script, or you got a song, too?" Then the kid's head snapped around and he stood up. "They called me. Gotta go."

"Break a leg," said Chris.

The kid looked at him squinty-eyed for a second, then pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Chris. "Call me. I hear about auditions sometimes, stuff I'm too young for. And I've got a guest pass at Disney, which is kinda like your job, but not exactly." He shrugged, then ran off to the audition room.

Chris blinked and looked at the card. There was a tiny picture of the kid, his name, a number and an address.

"He means it," said a woman. Chris looked up and saw Justin's mother. Their relationship was obvious, not so much from physical resemblance, although their bodies seemed built along the same lines, but a very soft drawl and a hard intensity in their eyes. It was scarier coming from a grown woman than a barely pubescent boy.

"Ma'am?"

"You should call him. Not many people meet Justin on the level where he's at."

"I've got four little sisters, and they're all…themselves."

"Exactly." She nodded decisively. "Call him." She gave him the same sort of considering look Justin had before he handed over the card. "I lay in a very nice table."

It took Chris a few seconds to decipher the Southernism, realize he was being offered free food. He looked at the card again, then pulled out his wallet and placed the little piece of paper inside. "I'll think about it."


	2. on his way from Mother's arms to Brother's care.

JC felt suspicious, and he hated that. He hadn't been really suspicious of people before LA, but he was now. He was suspicious of Lou Perlman, but that was probably a good thing; Lou wanted to make money from them and he was too grabby around Joey and Justin.

JC was suspicious of Chris, too. Chris was definitely dreaming of making music, but he was also dreaming of making it big. JC had pretty much decided he'd rather make good music than make millions of dollars. He suspected that he might have to make millions of dollars to be able to afford to make the music he wanted, but he wasn't quite ready to accept that yet.

Jason, he suspected of being a quitter. He was the only one who hadn't done music as a _job_ in the group, and the more he realized this wasn't like being in a garage band or a church choir, the more tightly his lips were pursed and the blanker his eyes got.

He didn't actually suspect Joey of anything. He knew Joey was bisexual, and drank too much, and didn't know how to sing at the very edges of his range without tearing up his throat. JC also knew that Joey could be happy just sexing up girls, and wouldn't drink around Justin (which meant rarely drinking at all), and that Joey was perfectly happy to let Chris and Jason take the flashy high and low parts.

JC was even suspicious of Justin, sometimes. Justin had always sparkled high and bright, always been superstar material. JC couldn't figure out why he thought being in Chris' group was the way to make it big, and Justin definitely planned to make it big.

He usually wasn't suspicious of Lynn Harless, though, but he didn't know what to think when Lynn had pulled up to the house, dropped Justin off, and ordered JC into her car. And her continued silence was just fueling his paranoia.

Finally, they pulled into a Winn-Dixie parking lot, and Lynn turned off the engine.

She still didn't say anything, and JC eventually broke. "What couldn't you say at the house?"

"Joshua Scott Chasez, how long have we known each other?"

JC shrugged. "Three years. Four. Why?"

"Lou's got people from Germany and France and Japan coming to look you boys over. I can't move to another country. I love Justin madly, but Paul needs me too. Justin comes first, but my husband can't come dead last." Lynn bowed her head, face in her hands.

JC had to look away. He couldn't do anything if she was crying except let her and ignore it. "So, you're not going to let him go with us? If we go overseas—"

Lynn looked out the window and shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous." She turned toface him. "Justin would figure out some way to get shipped in the luggage if I tried to tell him no. I'm going to worry about him, and that's normal. But I'm going to be scared unless—." She took JC's hands in hers.

JC wanted to pull away, shake her off. She wasn't grabbing too hard, but he felt something being crushed in him, torn off and pushed down and away.

"I trust you. I took you in and I let Justin get involved in business with Lou Pearlman because you're right there. Will you take care of my baby?"

Something in Lynn's phrasing flipped a switch in JC, made him feel like he was back on MMC. His smile was automatic, full-fledged, and false. "Sure, Lynn. Justin's like my little brother. I'd do anything for him."

 


	3. Strange Man ate him all up.

When Chris thought about Justin's sixteenth birthday, it was always flashes.

Five shiny metal discs being handed out, that first taste of real success.

The smell of burning candles.

The soft, puffy melting fluff of Justin's angelfood birthday cake.

Small, brightly wrapped boxes being thrown at his head.

The rank scent of pot smoke and spilled German beer at the club they'd taken Justin to, a place that was small and more about dancing than drugs or sex.

Justin's skin, long stretches of pale, not tanned like it had been in Florida.

Justin's cock, hard and hot and blurry from Justin's frantic, unending motion.

Smell of oil in Justin's hair, a weird lavender-olive combination from France. It was too expensive, but Justin swore it was the first time in his life his curls had had some semblance of order without being gelled or moussed to death.

The taste of Justin's shoulder, fresh and warm, which was different from the taste of his mouth, or his ankle, or his thigh, or his cock.

The almost slippery stickiness of Justin's spunk. The kid had exploded when Chris's hand had touched his dick, and five more times after that. The shit had gotten everywhere.

The salt heavy taste of Justin's blood. Chris bit down hard on Justin's shoulder when he came.

He still liked the taste.


	4. Nobody noticed

Do you give? Do you give?" Chris was sitting on Justin's back and had him in a headlock.

Joey rolled his eyes and turned his head back to the screen. He'd never seen Grease 2 before, and watching Michelle Pfeiffer in what was possibly the worst movie of her career was like a trainwreck he couldn't stop watching. Certainly not to watch one of Justin and Chris' numerous squabbles about basketball. Or maybe football. He didn't know, he just wished they'd be quieter and stop rolling on his feet. In a minute, he'd have to stop the movie and go sit on someone's head.

* * *

JC took his headphones off. There was something in the chorus that sounded off to him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He turned off the tape recorder into which he'd been singing, and went out in the hall. He looked at the rooms, but couldn't remember which one was Chris and Justin's. The whole floor was rented to their tour, so the bodyguards were off not guarding bodies. Then he heard them.

"Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick!" screeched Justin. He sounded shocked, but happy-shocked, not scared.

"Ride 'em, cowboy!" shouted Chris, his pitch lower, his volume greater. JC loved the way Chris' pretty, high voice could _carry_ sound without going shrill.

He went back in his room, turned the tape recorder back on. He'd been working on a song about Joey and Kelly and keeping things hot across an ocean, but now, he had an idea about cowboys.

* * *

Lance was really, really drunk. So very drunk. Joey was a bad man, to make Lance so drunk. Much of the big German beer. Ale. Maybe some schnapps, too.

Wow, the floor was very shifty when Lance was drunk. Drunk drunk drunk. Inebriated.

"Lance. Lance, look at me."

Lance felt his head rising up all by itself, or maybe by Joey's fingers under his chin, and looked into Joey's eyes. He blinked, because there were three of them. Or maybe four. No, just two. He pointed and giggled. "One! Two! Two eyes!"

"Fuck. I'm gonna die. The only way you'll make it through tomorrow is if you stay drunk. Shit."

Lance didn't really understand what Joey was talking about. He loved Joey. Joey was nice. He got Lance drunk. Lance tried to hug Joey, but he just fell on him.

Joey pushed him upright. "Lance, you have to be so, so quiet when you go to bed. Do you understand?"

Lance nodded. Then he stopped so he wouldn't fall down. Or barf. "Vewwy vewwy quiet. We're going wabbit hunting."

Joey sighed and pressed his forehead to Lance's. "Yes, vewwy, vewwy quiet, Lance. But we're not rabbit hunting. You're going to bed. Just lie down on the bed, and pull off your shoes and pants, okay."

Lance grinned. "Lie down on my bed and get naked. Heh heh heh."

Joey rolled his eyes. "I turn my back for one minute, and strange women are pouring booze down your throat. It was a dyke club! I thought you'd be safe."

Lance felt himself turned around and walked forward. "Okay, Lance, get right in the bed," Joey whispered in his ear as the door opened in front of Lance.

Lance walked in very, very quietly and climbed right on the bed.

Unfortunately, it wasn't his bed.

"The fuck!" screeched Chris.

"What? What?" said Justin.

"Y'all are kinda naked," said Lance from the floor. Then he put his hands on his stomach. "I think I'm gonna puke."

Lance forgot about how strange it was that Chris and Justin were sleeping together as he puked for an hour straight.


	5. the Ghost of Baby Blue Boy uttered strange magic words.

"_Bumsen Sie mich_," whined Justin.

JC's head snapped up. He'd been asked that a lot in Germany, but he thought they'd kept that sort of thing from Justin and Lance.

But no, he was draped over Chris, commanding him to fuck in German, and other things, a really filthy conversation. JC knew none of the crew would have taught Justin the German for some of it, and Chris was the only one of the guys who had learned enough German at the time to do it.

But when Chris whispers back, "_Schatz_," and taps his fingers to the back of Justin's hand, which is what they do when they can't kiss in public, JC figures it out.

Because that little tap thing, they started doing that in Freiburg or Mannheim, that first tiny tour in February that didn't have its own name, and Justin was never the kind of kid who liked swear words just because they were forbidden. JC just wants to vomit. He wants to slit his wrists or maybe Chris' throat, because JC was supposed to be _watching_ damnit, he'd promised Lynn he would keep the baby safe, and he hadn't.

"He was just a fucking _baby_ in Germany!" screamed JC and everyone turned to look at him like he was crazy, but Chris and Justin clung to each other tightly. "Get the fuck away from him, Chris. Back the fuck off!"


	6. Then Mother

Lynn pushed the handset at the phone cradle. A harsh buzzing rose, and she tried again. Again, and finally caught it.

When her hand was empty, she could see it was shaking. She grabbed her own elbows hard, pulled her forearms close against her tummy, almost but not quite giving herself a hug.

She stood there still and quiet in her kitchen, and it got harder and harder to breathe. She thought at first it was psychosomatic, because her baby had been—but then there was a wet plop! onto her shirt and she realized she was crying and her nose was running. She pulled a paper towel from the roll over the sink and wiped her face, blew her nose.

Minutes passed before she threw away the paper towel, but then she moved quickly, into the bathroom to wash her face, to her bedroom to change shirts. She faced her mirror, but she didn't really _look_ at herself, she wasn't that focused.

It wasn't long before she got on her knees and prayed.


	7. and Brother

JC grabbed Justin's arm and pulled him away from Chris, out of Justin's house, into the car, and away. He drove as fast as he could for forty-five minutes without saying a word. He pulled into a 7-11 parking lot and turned off the engine.

"JC, what the fuck is going on here?" said Justin, after time had passed, five or fifty minutes of cars coming in and out of the lot, and some kids running by, and people shouting for no apparent reason, the hum that a building with lots of lights make.

JC didn't look at Justin, hadn't looked at Justin since he'd seen Chris' hand go up and down on Justin's wrist. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."

"JC, what are you sorry for and why were you screaming at Chris? Why am I here?"

"I have to call your mother. And I forgot my phone. Stay here." JC turned to get out of the car, then turned back, wrapped Justin up in his arms. "I was supposed to watch out for you, and I fucked up. I'm sorry."


	8. and Hunter

Joey didn't understand what Jace was flipping out about immediately. Jace had pulled Justin away somewhere and Lance and Chris both looked puzzled.

Joey saw the minute something clicked for Chris, because Chris looked at him and Lance with fear. And fear and Germany mixed together in Joey's mind, and he knew.

He hesitated for a second, because Germany was a long time ago, and Chris and Justin were good together now, and also because he hadn't administered a beatdown in, well, ever, unless you counted fucking with Steve.

But Chris had broken a trust and Joey had promised to take him down if he ever hurt Justin. He walked forward slowly.

Chris backed up, hands out, bent forward like he was about to take off.

"Don't run, man," said Joey. "Running'll only make it worse." He lost sense of the real-ness of the moment right then and there, got caught up in the romance, the theatrics of being an enforcer. He took off his henley and folded it, put it on an end table. He left on his wifebeater, but he took off his rings, his bracelets, his necklace. If he'd had on a cross, he would have kissed it.

He walked towards Chris slowly, staring him straight in the eyes. "You should have waited, man. He was just a kid, and you were everything. He didn't have a chance." He bunched up his right fist, thumb under his knuckles like Steve had showed him. Threw his first punch from his hip, straight in Chris' stomach. He threw from his shoulder with his left to punch Chris in the face. He punched in a rhythm, slowly, repeatedly. He hit Chris as hard as he could over and over, over and over, tried to keep the unfamiliar motions on a beat.

He stopped when he saw blood spray. Chris was crouched over at that point. Joey picked him up, stretched him out on the couch. Went to Justin's fridge and grabbed the ice packs he saw there, five or six of them. Also, some frozen peas and corn and soybeans.

He dropped the ice packs on Chris' stomach, along with the soybeans. The bag of peas and the bag of corn he kept for himself, for his hands. They felt hot and raw.

Chris sat up, started arranging frozen objects around his body. "Joey," he hissed.

"Chris, you fucking fuck! Just don't, man. Don't."


	9. and King

Lance turned his back on Joey and Chris. Literally, he turned away and pulled out his cellphone and started calling. First to Tiny, to tell him that Justin and Chris should not be left alone together, _particularly_ in private but also in public, until Lance or Joey said otherwise. Next call to Johnny. For him, he added that Chris would probably not be available for public appearances for a week or two because, "Things got physical."

Then he pulled out his dayplanner. He always kept track of his own schedule, because he hated having to ask his PA what was going to happen next, but he didn't always keep track of everybody else's, especially if they were between tours and not recording. He put a call in to everyone's PA, let them know the next forty-eight hours should be rescheduled because the guys needed time off together and got a list of everyone's schedule for the next month.

It took him close to two hours to work out a schedule that met everyone's legal and social obligations, but seemed least likely to make the group implode. He blast-faxed the PAs, the agents, and Jive with instructions to, "Make these things happen."

He grabbed three beers out of the refrigerator and headed back to the living room. "There are going to be some changes," he said.


	10. tried to rescue Baby Blue Boy. They wrapped his ghost in hugs and kisses and soft words.

Lance was living with Justin, now. They hadn't really discussed it, but after the tour was over, Joey had a couple of movies lined up and JC, writing and producing a second solo album, wouldn't be watchful enough. Lynn was down as much as she could be, and she constantly asked Justin to come home to Tennessee, just for a while, but she needed to live closer to her parents than Florida.

Lance told the staff at his companies to pretend he was still on tour. He fed Justin peanutbutter and banana sandwiches, then made him exercise two and three times a day to work off the fat and carbs. The Russians had taught him the value of an endorphin high, the escape potential in pushing joints, tendons, and muscles to their limits.

Lance got Justin to smile once that winter, a real smile and not just a mask for cameras. Lance'd been going crazy, listening to *NSYNC's entire backcatalog with the treble turned way, way up. Soul Grooves of the 70's had seemed like a gift from God at 2:30 one mindless morning when he couldn't seem to turn off the TV.

Justin had shook his head when Lance proudly presented the introductory disk, looked happy for as long as it took to say, "You don't know anything, do you, Lance?" Then the smile curved and twisted, went bitter and mean. "I mean, it's obvious that you don't know shit."

Justin would sometimes listen to Donnie Hathaway instead of Chris' solos after that, though.

* * *

The financing on Joey's second movie fell through. It was a lucky break when Disney offered him a kids' variety show for the month of December. Then Nia offered to reform Cousin Angelo, make him a bigger part since Louis wanted to take some time and do a couple of "Australian-flavored" Hollywood indies. My Big Fat Greek Life would pay more money, give him better exposure, but proximity to Justin decided him in favor of Kidster Place Theater.

Kelly was working in New York, a job she couldn't take a month long absence from with no notice, but she let Briahna come to Florida with him.

Joey dropped Bri off on his way to rehearsal or taping, and either picked her up on the way back or slept at Justin's. He also cooked a lot. Thai, French, Colombian, all kinds of shit. Anything but the Italian like his mom used to make. He only cooked like that when he was happy.

* * *

JC finished his album very fast, but Jive didn't want it. "It was so strange," he said to Lance, "half the suits were crying, and the other half wanted to kill something. But they all said, 'We can't sell two million of these. Me, I would like a copy, but there's noone who would play songs like that except alternative rock stations, and they won't touch you with a ten foot pole.'"

Lance nodded but didn't say anything. If he talked while doing free weights, he lost track of his repetitions.

"So, I decided that a kids' album would be something different, a real challenge. And Briahna could be, like, a pre-tester or something."

Lance nodded again, but he was really thinking _4_.

"It's a good thing she likes gruesome lyrics. I'm not having much luck with nice songs."

* * *

Lynn was expecting Justin and Briahna when she opened her door. Not that he'd called ahead, but Lance had called early that day, frantic that Justin and Briahna were gone. He didn't think they'd been kidnapped since Justin's favorite traveling Porsche and some Time-Life records were also gone, but he was worried that Justin wasn't fully in control of himself.

Lynn had made soothing noises, told Lance not to worry and call his mama. If Justin and Briahna hadn't shown up in Tennessee by noon tomorrow, he should take a flight to LA and see if they were at Chris' new digs, but it would be soon enough to worry then.

Then she hung up and laughed and laughed, because Justin being in too much control over himself was exactly how they'd gotten into this mess.

So, when her door had rung and she was greeted by a tired, "Hey, mama," and a sleepy little, "Lynn," from Bri, she wasn't shocked at all.

"Come on in, baby. I made fried chicken for supper."

Justin didn't say much at all that night, just how the chicken was good and the drive had been okay and he kind of wanted to go vist Graceland tomorrow.

When Lynn asked him how was, he said, "I miss him, Mama."

"He hurt you, baby. I am so, so sorry I didn't know something was wrong then, Justin, but I'm not going to let him hurt you anymore. Me and the boys will take care of you."

Justin put fists over his eyes and rubbed slowly, like he was a tired little boy again. When he spoke, though, he sounded so old, Lynn felt like her daddy was speaking to her after she'd been disappointingly slow. "Y'all keep saying that, 'We're so sorry we let him hurt you, Justin.' I wasn't hurting until y'all pulled me and Chris apart. I know that very first year you knew about us, no one was sure about the two of us. That was a rough year, being in the States was different, and the thing with Dani, and—." he shrugged. "That was a rough year. After that, though, did you have one doubt, one worry about me and Chris until JC called you screeching like a crazy man?"

"That's not really the point, Justin."


	11. They called Strange Man terrible magic words

"Chris, honey, I don't understand. I know he's the most appealing little shit, but you couldn't wait two years for a piece of his ass?"

"If my son didn't need me with him now, I'd shoot your ass at high noon in Times Square, you fucker. Stay away from us."

"Chris, you fucking fuck!"

"He was just a baby. Dude, you raped a baby."

"You know we're never going to let you see him alone again."


	12. and locked him up in a cage

Joey was on Chris duty for the VMAs, which sucked because he'd brought Kelly, and she didn't know. She knew there was something wrong with *NSYNC, but she didn't know why.

So, Chris duty, and Joey stood there with his arm around the bastard all night long, smiling and laughing like he was having the time of his life. Really, he wanted to go take a hot shower after the first fifteen minutes.

But no, that VJ, the chick who theoretically covered hard rock but really seemed to prefer to talk to boyband members was headed towards them. Mary? Terry? Carry? He could never fucking remember her name.

"Hey, I heard the new album, I really like it."

"Hey, thanks a lot. It's kind of surprising coming from you," said Joey.

She laughed, but gave him a _what the fuck are you doing?_ look when the camera turned to focus on him and Chris. "Hey, no, I used to be a big *NSYNC fan back in the day. Had a 'I [heart] Justin' shirt and everything."

"Oh, really? You're making me feel old here."

"Oh, yeah, I was a big fan. I was always pissed off there wasn't a Chris calendar. Lance and JC and Justin and group, but not you and not Chris. I was sixteen and I thought Chris was a hot hot thing."

Chris stood up a little taller and said, "Hey, I'm free. You're over age. We could always hit an afterparty, do the *NSYNC dream date thing."

Joey dug his fingers deep in Chris' shoulder.

"Or, you know, not. I just came stag, and Joey's been consoling me about my total lack of luck with the ladies, but he really should get back to squiring his wife, I think."

Perry or Larry or whatever the fuck just laughed and shook her head. "That's so sweet, but, you know, when I was eighteen I totally fell in love with hard rock and realized I was a lesbian. You should find a chick you have a chance with. That's my plan for the night."

Joey couldn't believe they were having this conversation on-air. He turned to look at the camera, and it turned out they weren't. The camera was off.

Fine by Joey. He wanted to get them out of there anyway. He looked around, saw JC, but that was no good because JC had Justin patrol tonight. Lance was escaping the clutches of some chick from ET, though. "Hey, Chris, I see Lance. You remember you wanted to ask about that thing." Joey dug into his shoulder again.

Chris forcibly removed Joey's arm from his shoulders. "You know, you went and got all buff for that movie with Sean Penn and now you have, like, the world's heaviest arm, Joey. Let me go." He turned to the MTV VJ and leaned forward to give her air kisses. "So, yeah, Harry, me and Joey have to go talk to Lance about some top secret boyband stuff. But we have to hook up sometime, you can teach me all about picking up chicks."

She laughed and patted his arm. "It's a date."


	13. until he ripped off his skin and showed the wolf underneath.

Everyone was surprised as hell when Chris made a solo album. What countertenors make pop music? They were more surprised when Trent Reznor's nothing label signed him up as an act called Howl. Then they heard the album.

No one was really surprised when Chris was sued in civil court because a teenage boy was listening to Stolen Treasure when he shot himself in the head.


	14. They were too late.

The problem with being a headshrinker to the stars is that famous people really do live lives different from other people. The behaviors they came to Joan Marlowe to fix, the annoying or upsetting or dangerous behaviors that were maladaptive for the ten percent of their lives they managed to keep private were sometimes highly functional for the 90% of their lives lived in public.

She still wasn't sure about the young man in front of her. Neither she nor he had said anything for a good ten minutes. Joan wasn't sure where to go from here. Her patient didn't believe he needed therapy anyway, and that made everything harder.

Joan closed her eyes, rubbed her forehead. She couldn't quite reconcile this scowling young man in front of her with the grinning face on those silly teen mags her daughter kept buying at the grocery store. This month's J-14 had shown him and a bunch of other pretty little boys laughing, something about 'Stars Share Their Favorite Jokes!' It had been more than just *NSYNC, been Linkin Park and Backstreet and—. "Hey, Justin. If Aaron Carter asked you out tomorrow, would you consider it?"

Justin's eyebrows came together in the middle of his forehead and she could read _What do I do when the shrink has lost her mind?_ written across his face. "Uh, no."

"Why not?"

"Well, first there's Chris, and then Nick Carter would kick my ass, and I'm pretty sure Aaron hates me anway. Also, he's, like, a zig—, a zog—, it starts with a z, really early in a pregnancy? Shit, bus high school was good for nothing."

"A zygote?"

Justin grinned. "Yeah. Or maybe, you know, an embryo or something. He's not even a baby, yet."

"How old _is_ Aaron Carter?"

"Um, I dunno. Joey is 27 and Nick is exactly 3 years younger than Joey, and Aaron is eight or nine years younger than that, so fifteenish."

"And you're how old now?"

"Twenty-three."

"That's the same age difference as between you and Chris, isn't it? Were you a zygote when the two of you first became romantically involved?"

Justin's grin faltered, then switched. It was that false smile all of her famous clients used, the ones for when they were ambushed in an interview. Sometimes when it showed up in her office it meant progress. Sometimes it was a setback. She didn't know for today.

"That's not the same."

But she thought it was probably a setback.

* * *

"Doctor, why am I here?" Chris shought a paper ball into his psychiatrist's trash can.

"You tell me," said the calm, plain-spoken man behind the desk.

Chris thought Dr. White might actually be a robot programmed to ask questions and say, "You tell me." As far as he could determine, the man had never moved in the five sessions he'd been visiting.

"Because JC and Joey and Lance freaked out about a relationship they know is perfectly healthy when they found out that the first time I had sex with Justin he was 16. Like, that's why I'm here, because Joey beat the shit out of me and JC's turned into a neurotic freak and Lance is. Well, okay, Lance is Lance, he's making sure no one else falls apart, but he hates me now."

Dr. White made an encouraging noise, but didn't seem to move his lips. He certainly didn't nod or shake his head or waggle his fingers or anything.

Chris threw another piece of paper. He'd brought a whole bunch of scrap paper with him—grocery lists and old phone messages and song bits that weren't ever going to work out—so he could play trashcan ball during his therapy. It was little things like this that convinced Chris he was turning into a responsible adult in his off time, not just when he was working.

"But, like, here's the thing. I don't know what they expect this therapy to do. You specialize in pedophilia, and I'm not a pedophile. I'm bi, but honestly, my type in men tends more towards big and solid and maybe a couple of years younger, maybe a couple years older. Like, Joey from five years in the future is more like my ideal. Justin is a freak break in my pattern."

"Why do you think I specialize in treating pedophiles, Chris?"

"Because Lynn said that's what you do when she told me I had an appointment?"

"And why don't you think you're a pedophile?"

"Because I'm not sexually attracted to kids. Like, I may have noticed that the occasional sixteen year old was hot, but I'm definitely only interested in the post-pubescent."

"So what made Justin different?"

"Justin wasn't different. I didn't lay a hand on him before I thought he was done growing. And then, you know, he grew another seventy feet and I realized I was wrong, but I thought he'd gotten physically mature. And Justin was never a child. I mean, he was a sixteen year-old kid, yeah, but in a lot of ways he was older than Lance back then, and Lance was 18." Chris crumpled up another piece of paper. "Or, wait, no I guess he was seventeen, since they're like a year and a half apart." He thoughtfully sunk another basket. "Anyway, my question is, what's my therapeutic goal here? Because if you're just certifying I'm not a pedophile, can't you just do that and we can go home?"

"You don't see anything wrong with starting a relationship with Justin when he was fourteen and you were twenty-three?"

"Okay, first of all, Justin wasn't fourteen when things became romantic. He likes to say it was love at first sight, and it's possible he had a crush on me when we met, but on my part, not so much, no. His mom was willing to feed me once a week if I came over, and that meant I could send more money to _my_ mom and the girls. I'm not even sure it was ten bucks a month more, but it was more. Also, Justin had his ear to the ground better about auditions for shit around the area. So, yeah, I liked Justin as an okay person, but really, it was more mercenary than romantic in the beginning. When he was fifteen though, he started flirting, and I flirted back because I was an asshole who thought it was funny to fuck around with a kid who had a crush on me, and then after a while of calling him baby and sweetheart, I started kissing him, rubbing his legs cause they were growing and he hurt, shit like that. And I wasn't fucking with him anymore. But yeah, Justin likes to say it was all romantic from the beginning, and mostly I let him believe that, but it wasn't really." Chris paused for breath, and also to more closely examine the next piece of paper on his stack.

It was on pink paper, a letter from all of his sisters, and it shouldn't have been here. He folded it and put it in his pocket. "What was the question again?"

"Whether you believe anything is wrong in you and Justin starting a romantic relationship when Justin was fourteen. Or fifteen, if you prefer."

"Yeah. Okay, here's the thing. Even if it was wrong, and I don't think it was because that kid was never a child from the first time I met him, but even if I started things the wrong way, isn't the important thing to look at how we are _now_ to find out if this is healthy? It's been nine years. Justin is twenty-three and he did a successful solo album and tour and hiatus mostly away from my evil clutches. So, we know he's really a functional adult and shit."

"Hmmm," said Dr. White.

"I'm going to beat my brains in with your paperweight," said Chris. He crumpled up a sheet which read, 'Milk, lube, brownies, steak, spinach,' and sighed.


	15. Baby Blue Boy's ghost flew away from the earth

Press Release

Justin Timberlake Farewell Performance 3/15/05  
March 1, 2005 8:47 AM

Justin Timberlake's final public performance will be Tuesday, March 15, at 7:30 pm Eastern at a fundraiser for his the Justin Timberlake Foundation. After this mini-concert, he will no longer record music for commercial release or perform in public, either as a solo artist or as part of the multi-platinum award winning group *NSYNC.

Tickets for the fundraiser, to be held at the Memorial Stadium in Memphis, Tennessee, will range in price from $50-$100. It will be simulcast on Pay Per View. Tickets will be available through Ticketmaster and the box office at 8 AM on March 3.

Justin Timberlake is a multi-platinum solo artist whose debut album, Justified was released to critical acclaim in September 2002. He has been a member of the multi-platinum, Grammy-nominated vocal harmony group *NSYNC since 1996. Their latest album, Hard at Work, was released in June 2004 and has sold 3.5 million copies to date. Rolling Stone awarded it an A-, Entertainment Weekly gave 4 stars.

The Justin Timberlake Foundation is dedicated to the promotion of high-quality music education programs in the public schools. It was established as part of the family of The Giving Back Fund. For more information, visit The Giving Back Fund at www.givingback.org.

Source: Just-In Time Entertainment


	16. and The Wolf broke its neck escaping the cage.

"This is Harry Donteau with an MTV newsbrief. *NSYNC member Chris Kirkpatrick, also known as the one man alt-goth megaforce Howl, is in serious condition at St. Francis Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. Kirkpatrick was apparently brought to the emergency room by security guards protecting the home of Lynn Harless, mother of fellow *NSYNC'er Justin Timberlake. No one will explain what Kirkpatrick was doing in Tennessee or why observers have noticed a rift between him and Timberlake in the past five months. MTV will keep you updated as more news becomes available."


	17. Additional Author's Notes

I decided to rewrite Allecto's das Märchen because it was for the [Fairy Tale Challenge](http://www.keyfitz.org/allecto/pop/fiction/ftc/index.html), and I have always been a sucker for fairytales.

I'm also fascinated by people's reaction to sexual childhood molestation and I sometimes wonder how much of the damage of it is caused by the acts, and how much is caused by the reaction (or people attempting to avoid others' reaction). This is my chance to play around with that question a little, although Allecto's original story makes it very clear that Chris was stringently observant of the laws, if not necessarily Justin's well-being.

I was deliberately ambiguous as to whether or not Chris and Justin's relationship was now or ever had been a healthy one. The original story didn't leave me feeling confident one way or the other. And while I wanted Lynn and the guys to clearly be reacting without thinking, I also wanted it to be possible that they were right for the wrong reasons. I'm not sure that came through.

The way I constructed the story was to write the fable _first_, and then hang the individual sections off of those words. I'd originally toyed with assigning each guy a part in Little Red Ridinghood, and then writing something from their perspective, but I never got around to rereading [the book](http://web.archive.org/web/20030923081218/http://www.perseusbooksgroup.com/perseus-cgi-bin/display/0-465-04126-4) I had checked out for that purpose. I was also probably influenced by Lise and kel's [flesh mechanic](http://www.doyourthing.org/lise/pop/cult/index.htm), CJ's [between the lines](http://www.mediageek.ca/cj/rpf/pop/liner/index.html), a couple of other *NSYNC stories along those line that I am so, so sorry I can't remember, and [the Griffin and Sabine books](http://www.griffinandsabine.com/), which, bizarrely enough, I first experienced on [book tape!](http://www.middlemoon.com/sandra/g-s/multimedia.html)

I was also very careful to never write from Justin's point of view. Allecto had given us that already, for one thing. And Justin wasn't very reasonable for another. He was too far into his rage to give the sorts of nuances I wanted for this story.

I toyed with the idea of giving a happy ending. But that seemed to betray the original story, since I was trying to _expand_ that, not change it as some people did (and did very well!) with theirs. It also didn't seem realistic with the story I had told. I tried to suggest with [Joey's spotlight](http://www.slashx-files.com/wq/sdb/allecto09.html) that not only had people reacted badly and without thinking when they first realized Justin was so young when he and Chris got together, but also that they worked themselves into a corner and didn't have a way to back down from that first stance, even had they wanted to reconsider after a time.

I am highly suspicious of people acting in groups.

Wow! If you made it this far, you have the patience of Job. These are some longass author's notes. Anyway, thanks for reading. And hey, if you liked the story well enough to read all of these author's notes, didn't you like it well enough to let me know? Or, maybe not. Anyway, thank you again.


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